


Sweet Annie

by SwtPea86



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwtPea86/pseuds/SwtPea86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick and Annie share a moment together before he's forced back to the Captiol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Annie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All! This is my first story and I'm really nervous about posting it, but I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to my beta Katnissinme. She took a chance on a random email from me and I will be forever grateful for her and all of help. 
> 
> The song I used is called Sweet Annie and it's by the Zac Brown Band. I do not own it. All rights go to them.
> 
> And Finally, I do not own THE HUNGER GAMES or its characters. It belongs to Suzanne Collins.

_I been burning Bright_  
 _For so long I can’t remember_  
 _Pretty girls and late night bars seem to be my line of work_  
 _Believe me when I say, I can’t stay this high forever_  
 _This mans had all he can stand, time to lay this body down_  


Home. Such a simple word. It could mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Those in District Two use the word to describe the tall, cold buildings made from stone where people live right on top of each other. People in District Seven use the word to describe their log cabins and the scent of pine that fills every room. Residents of District Eleven call home to small, square structures with straw roofs and mud walls. 

Finnick Odair calls home to no such place. For all intents and purposes, as far as the Capitol is concerned anyway, his home is in the Victor’s Village in District Four. But anyone who knows Finnick knows that his true home is with her. Not in her Victor’s Village house or even his. But in a rundown hut that he bought shortly after she won her games. It is a lonely, but beautiful place near the sea. With its whitewashed walls embedded with seashells, it’s their hiding place from prying eyes. It’s here that, while pondering the use of the word home, he watches her sleep.

He’s the Capitol’s pretty boy. Sold to the highest bidder nightly. At first it was alright—the beautiful women and the late night parties were something he could handle. He was flying high and on top of the world. The money and jewels and fame weren’t a hard price to pay at all. He was never going to slow down; he won the right to live and damn it he wasn’t going to miss out on one second of it.

Needless to say, he was wrong. He was young and didn’t understand that there were rules that had to be followed. It all got old very quickly. And dangerous even quicker. He learned the hard way that you don’t tell those in charge no. He understands now why Haymitch drinks, maybe even envies him a little at being able to get lost in the bottom of a bottle. 

But laying here in her arms, watching the way her nose scrunches up in her sleep, he can almost forget everything that exists outside of these four walls. This is home to him. 

_Sweet Annie_  
 _Can I stay with you a while_  
 _Cause this roads been putting miles on my heart_  
 _Sweetheart I’ve been living in a fantasy_  
 _But one day Lightning will strike_  
 _And my bark will lose its bite_  
 _Sweet Annie_  


He wants to stay. He wants just one more moment. And then another. And another. He never wants to leave their bed. Every moment away from her tears his heart to pieces, though no one would ever know. It’s all smiles for the Capital cameras. It’s fancy clothes and expensive food and important people. It’s a fantasy. 

No, that’s not right. It’s a nightmare. One that he relives almost daily. But it’s almost at its end. The rebels have a plan. And he knows they’ll win. He knows _he’ll_ win. Just so he can come back to their bed. To their home. He has faith in it. Just as she has faith in him. It’s all that keeps him going some days. The faith he sees when she opens her beautiful green eyes and smiles at him. Just like she’s doing right now. 

_Sweet Annie_  
 _I know I promised you a life_  
 _But with an empty bed and the words I said don’t carry any weight_  
 _If I could take back yesterday, Find a way to start it over_  
 _Turn around, put that bottle down and I’d pray it’s not too late_  


She doesn’t know of the rebel plot or his involvement in it. It’s safer for her that way. But she knows something is happening. She says she can feel it. She’s not crazy. So he distracts her. He closes his eyes and tells her of the future he sees. One where the Hunger Games are over and they’re free. He tells her his promises of the house he’ll build her on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The very cliffs where they made love for the first time in the angry heat of summer. She smiles when he begins his talk of a house full of chubby babies and of summers spent chasing them on the sand and teaching them to swim. He promises to give her as many as she’d like. Her heart fills with joy at the picture she conjures in her head. A golden skinned son with bronze hair. A miniature of his father. But with her eyes. 

Empty promises. 

_Sweet Annie_  
 _Can I stay with you a while_  
 _Cause this roads been putting miles on my heart_  
 _Sweetheart I’ve been living in a fantasy_  
 _But one day Lightning will strike_  
 _And my bark will lose its bite_  
 _But don’t give up on me_  
 _What will be will be_  


They don’t speak of it, but they both know their time here together is coming to an end. Duty calls. And his takes him right back into the arms of those who are willing to pay whatever exuberant fees they have to in order to have him. Snow gets his cut, of course, but it’s been many years since Finnick has dealt in anything as trivial as money. Which is why he knows they’ll win. That’s why he does what he does—for the secrets. Because every single one collected is one closer to taking them all down. Every single one is his way of making sure that 74 years of dead children receive some kind of justice. Every single one is his way of securing his future. Their future. 

_Sweet Annie_  
 _Turn out the light_  
 _These hands that long to hold you_  
 _Fall all over you_  
 _All over again_  
 _Come a little closer so I can show you_  
 _My heart still beats fast for you_  
 _All over, and over again_  


But right now there are no thoughts of Rebel strategies, sadistic clients, dead children or him leaving. Right now every thought, every breath, every sense is filled with her. He turns out the table lamp so that the room is filled only with the soft rays of the early morning light. The beams drape across her body and the sheet that barely covers her. He reaches for it and drags it off of her. Her bare body now exposed, he smiles. Home, he thinks. This is home. 

He reaches for her and she comes into his arms willingly. And he know she always will. She knows it, too. 

He tastes her skin and marvels at the way he can taste the sea on it. He can taste home. She gasps when his mouth closes over one tender breast. He knows her well. He knows exactly where to touch, kiss and suck to make her come apart in his arms. So he does. And when she comes down from her high, when she looks up at him through heavily lidded eyes and smiles, then, and only then, does he slide into her. He slides home. This is home.

No, he thinks, Annie may be his home, but being inside of her like this, this must be what heaven is like.

It doesn’t last long. It never does with how little they get to be together like this, but as he supports himself above her, he watches her—her eyes closed and her mouth opened in silent gasps—and he thinks how beautiful she is. And how he will never tire of seeing her this way. Forever. Bracing himself on one forearm, he places her hand over his heart. She can feel it racing and she knows that it beats only for her. Faster and faster it goes so that soon its rhythm matches the one his hips are producing between her thighs. 

And just like that, they’re flying. Flying as high as the seagulls that circle the docks. And when it’s over, and he’s pulled himself from her wonderful heat and has her gathered in his arms, he thinks. He thinks about everything he’s done and everything he still needs to do and his heart breaks.

_Sweet Annie_  
 _Can I stay with you a while_  
 _Cause this road’s been putting miles on my heart_  
 _Sweetheart I’ve been living in a fantasy_  
 _But one day Lightning will strike_  
 _And my bark will lose its bite_  
 _But Don’t give up on me_  


She’s sleeping again. Peacefully for once. He’s thankful for this as Victors know little of peace. His peace has been broken by the clock on the wall. He has to go. There’s a train coming to take him back to Hell. He gets up and gets dressed. She groans in her sleep and reaches for him, but doesn’t wake. It will be easier on them both if she sleeps until he’s gone. He covers her beautiful body once more with the sheet and kisses her forehead. His heart breaks when his name falls from her lips in a whisper. But asleep she remains. He picks up his bag and looks at her one last time before leaving. His heart is breaking, but the smile on his face covers it with a lie.

They have to win. There’s too much for him to lose if they don’t.

_Sweet Annie_

His Annie.

~Fin


End file.
